


Could I But Hold Thee

by the_diggler



Series: Could I But Hold Thee [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Castiel, Barista Dean, Bottom Dean, Exhibitionism, Fluff, M/M, Painting, Polski | Polish, Professor Castiel, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Smut, Translation Available, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_diggler/pseuds/the_diggler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel is stuck without a model for his life-art class, Dean volunteers. What Dean doesn't know is that Castiel has already been sketching the young barista for months...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Could I But Hold Thee

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [CZY MÓGŁBYM CIĘ OBJĄĆ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068930) by [patusinka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patusinka/pseuds/patusinka)



> This is something I originally posted on tumblr in around 500 word chunks. It was only supposed to be a little 3k thing, but then turned into this epically long piece of smut, so it was just easier for me to deal with it in shorter blocks lol. And I want to thank tyrana over at tumblr, for all her comments and support on this the whole way through *huggles*

  
~

_How, in the light of morning,  
Round me thou glowest,  
Spring, thou beloved one!  
With thousand-varying loving bliss  
The sacred emotions  
Born of thy warmth eternal  
Press 'gainst my bosom,  
Thou endlessly fair one!  
Could I but hold thee clasp'd  
Within mine arms!  
\--from Ganymede by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

_~_

He’s standing on the sidewalk outside The Haven café after an extended lunch break, waiting to cross the road and start the walk back to the University, when he gets the call. His model, Balthazar, has had some kind of life or death emergency and can’t sit for his class today. The very class he was just heading back to set up for.  
  
It puts him in a difficult position. His students are expecting a life-art practical today, but it’s too late to contact any of his other usual models. And his frustration must be quite obvious, because suddenly there’s a voice next to him, asking if he’s alright.  
  
“Cas?” the voice asks again, and when he turns he’s momentarily stunned to see Dean, the young barista from the café, peering at him in concern. And then he can’t find the breath to make words, because even Dean’s concerned face is beautiful.  
  
“You get some bad news or something?” Dean asks, glancing at the phone still clutched in Castiel’s hand.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel replies, finally snapping out of it. “My model just called to inform me he won’t be able to sit for my class this afternoon, and I don’t know anyone else who can do it.”  
  
“Oh, that really sucks.” Dean says, frowning in sympathy.  
  
“Yes, it does,” Castiel echoes, unable to think of anything else to say as he is struck for the millionth time, by how genuinely interested Dean always manages to seem when they talk, even though Dean must have to make small talk with customers all day.  
  
“Well, I should get back,” Castiel sighs, unable to linger any longer, no matter much he wants to. “I should start asking around.”  
  
“I can do it!” Dean blurts suddenly.  
  
“ _What?!_ ” Castiel practically chokes out in surprise.  
  
“My shift finished over an hour ago anyway, so I’m free,” Dean grins sheepishly.  
  
Castiel’s head tilts in disbelief as his jaw drops open, unable to process what is happening. Not only is Dean offering a solution to Castiel’s predicament, but in doing so he’s freely giving away permission to be sketched, something Castiel’s being doing discreetly since the day he first laid eyes on the young man.  
  
“Are you _sure?_ ” he has to ask, still a bit stunned, holding his breath as hope flutters nervously in his stomach.  
  
“It’s just sitting around in my underwear right?” Dean says, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. Like it’s nothing. Except that Castiel’s been fantasizing about seeing Dean naked for _weeks_.  
  
And as if picking up on that thought, a look of alarm suddenly crosses Dean’s face. “I _do_ get to keep my underwear on, right?” he asks.  
  
“Yes, of course,” Castiel rushes to reply. “Whatever you’re comfortable with,” he adds, smiling in what he _hopes_ is an assuring manner, and not the manic amazement he thinks it might actually be. But then Dean smiles back, easy as sunlight, and Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat once again.  
  
“Okay then,” Dean says, gesturing towards the street. “Lead the way.”  
  
~  
  
The walk back to campus is almost surreal. Castiel tries to spend the time filling Dean in on the basic structure of his class and the reasoning behind the need for a live model. He’s always believed the artist should have a strong traditional framework to build on, a solid understanding of the rules of color, lighting, balance and framing that affect all forms of painting and sculpture – even in today’s digital age. But while he truly believes in what he’s saying, at the same time it all feels like a thinly veiled excuse, trying to justify the fact that he’s just some creepy guy who likes to perv on beautiful young men.  
  
But it’s not uncomfortable, far from it in fact, as Dean has established time and again how good he is at making small talk at the café. And maybe that’s why the whole thing feels a little unbelievable. Seeing Dean outside his usual habitat is a little disconcerting. It’s hard to disassociate the young man from that particular setting.  
  
The Haven is one of Castiel’s favorite places to get away from the hustle and bustle of the University for a few hours. It’s close enough to walk there on a nice day, but it’s also just far enough from campus to not be constantly swamped by students, so the regular clientele doesn’t make him feel out of place. And the décor itself seems to reflect this range of attraction - quirky, but not kitchy artefacts adorning the counters, walls covered in the pages of an old book, corners displaying old record albums - the kinds of things older people grew up with and younger people think are retro-cool.  
  
But the café isn’t all show either. The menu is diverse, affordable yet quality, and there’s as much variety in Tea as there is Coffee, which is an important selling point for Castiel. It’s a spacious place, open and bright, conducive to conversation, but still cozy and quiet enough to plug in a laptop and study, pull out the resident chessboard for a game, or sit on the couch and sketch, undisturbed.  
  
So Dean is not the only reason Castiel goes there.  
  
But since he first laid eyes on the young barista, Dean _is_ the only thing he draws.  
  
The shadow of his lashes, the freckles on his face, the bow of his lips, the curve of his back… the lines of his shoulder blades when he’s making coffee, the flex of his forearm when he wipes down the counter, the spark in his eyes when he laughs… and above all, his smile.  
  
That smile. There’s just something about it. Besides being absolutely stunning - well, besides _everything_ about Dean being absolutely stunning - there’s something about the way Dean smiles that makes Castiel feel like it’s just for him.  
  
And maybe it’s Dean’s smile now, that’s throwing him more than anything, being directed at him over and over again, for the longest conversation they’ve had. But Castiel doesn’t care. He’ll take that smile, as many times as Dean wants to give it to him, no matter how many times it makes him lose his train of thought, or trip over his own feet as they make their way to his studio.  
  
He can’t believe how lucky he is.  
  
~  
  
He tries to offer Dean some kind of compensation for his time. He knows Dean works two jobs to take care of his little brother, so Castiel tries to offer the same fee he pays all his models, at the very least. Dean won’t hear of it though. He’s so enthusiastic about the prospect of seeing where Castiel teaches, and sitting in on one of Castiel’s classes, that he insists it’s a fair trade.  
  
Castiel finds it a little hard to swallow at first, but when they finally reach the campus’ studio Dean looks around with such open curiosity at the cluttered workbenches, eagerly examining the waiting easels around the room, and losing himself so completely in the paintings on the walls, that Castiel starts to believe his sincerity.  
  
“Are any of these yours?” Dean asks.  
  
“No,” Castiel smiles regretfully.  
  
“Oh,” Dean says, and Castiel could swear Dean looks a little bit disappointed at that.  
  
Leaving his bag and jacket at his desk, he goes to join Dean by the wall. “These are reprints of some works I’ve always found inspiring,” Castiel explains. “I thought maybe some of the students might find inspiration from them as well.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean says again, but this time he seems more satisfied with the answer, turning to scrutinize the prints with interest again. He stops altogether when he sees the print of a naked youth being embraced mid-flight by a giant eagle, a dog barking at them from below. It’s one of Castiel’s favorites. The young man’s naked skin glows with light, a representation of his beauty, and perhaps signifying his status as a loved object, as the eagle raises him towards the heavens in his talons, the embrace both powerful and erotic at the same time.  
  
Castiel is about to ask Dean if he knows the myth of Zeus and Ganymede, but unfortunately that’s when his students begin filtering into the room, breaking the spell the painting has captured them in.  
  
“Come with me,” he sighs, leading Dean to the supply room at the back of the studio. On the way he grabs the sheet draped over the old chaise lounge by the windows, shaking out the thin layer of dust that’s collected on it. “I’m sorry, I don’t have a robe for you to use, but if you’d like to undress in here, you can use this sheet until the students are ready to begin.”  
  
“Okay sure,” Dean says, taking the offered sheet, and for one wild moment Castiel actually considers staying to watch Dean strip, but thankfully he remembers how entirely inappropriate that would be. He really can’t afford to make Dean any more uncomfortable than he must already be, having never done this before. So instead Castiel shakes off the brief moment of insanity, and goes to his place in front of the class.  
  
When Dean finally re-emerges from the room, robed in the sheet, draped over his shoulder, he looks very much like what Castiel imagines the young greek Ganymede must have looked like to Zeus - the kind of beauty that could enrapture a God. But there’s something inherently boyish about Dean as well, hair mussed from removing his clothes and looking like he just rolled out of bed, and Castiel’s mouth goes dry at all the implications of the image he presents.  
  
He has to swallow hard a couple of times before he can breathe again, let alone speak, asking Dean to take a seat on the chaise until they are ready for him. But as he begins to address his class, he simply cannot keep his eyes away from where Dean sits, in nothing but a thin sheet and his underwear, beautiful and waiting.  
  
~  
  
It’s maybe the hardest lecture Castiel's ever given. Even though it’s a practical session and he only has to talk for a few minutes, refreshing his students on the main topics they covered during their previous theory lesson - he’s nervous as hell, knowing Dean is right there, watching him as avidly as some of his more eager students. Pretty soon he isn’t even sure what he’s saying anymore. His voice sounds like muffled warbling to his own ears, like the teacher from Charlie Brown, wah-wah-wah-ing away.  
  
By the time he's done speaking he is completely out-of-body, his limbs working on automatic as he makes his way over to Dean, or rather, _gravitates_ towards him. And maybe it’s a good thing his brain isn’t fully in charge anymore, or he probably would’ve tripped over himself again when Dean starts sliding the sheet off his shoulders. Thankfully Castiel remains upright, so he doesn’t miss a second, dumbly watching the slow reveal of skin as the sheet pools in Dean’s lap, his fingers twitching to follow the seeming caress of the material on its descent.  
  
Dean blinks up at him through his eyelashes afterwards, something like shy uncertainty in his eyes, and instantly Castiel wants to debauch him in a million different ways. But before he can even begin, Dean asks,  
  
“Should I stand? Or sit? What do you want me to do?”  
  
And Castiel’s mind goes back to that single track, imagining all the different positions he could take Dean in, standing _and_ sitting.  
  
But the question also reminds him if the context they are in, and the waiting eyes behind him, so he forces himself to shake it off and try to behave like the professional he’s supposed to be.  
  
“It might be more comfortable for you to remain seated, but it would be better if you could stretch out a bit,” Castiel replies.  
  
Dean nods, twisting to lift his legs up onto the chaise and leaning back into its pillows. Castiel tries hard not to notice how easily Dean sinks into the couch, the way his whole body opens up from its center, long limbs stretching and unfolding, laying open and inviting.  
  
And then Dean takes up the ends of the sheet, lifting them up towards Castiel in some kind of offer, and once again he aches to _take_ … until Dean speaks again.  
  
“What should I do with this?” he asks, draping one of the ends of the sheet over the back of the chaise and fidgeting with it. Castiel snaps out of his daze again with a small shake of his head, reaching out to take the other end to assist him.  
  
As Castiel leans forward though, he’s assaulted by an entirely different barrage of sensation, when he inhales the scent of Dean’s cologne, or whatever it is he’s wearing. It smells like cinnamon, and coffee, and… motor oil - Nice and naughty all rolled in one - and Castiel finds himself swaying into it, almost pressing his face right into Dean’s neck to breathe it in.  
  
He has to yank himself away, clearing his throat as he busies himself with the sheet again, trying to keep himself just out of smelling distance from Dean’s skin, or else be overwhelmed again.  
  
He just can’t do the same for his eyes though. Dean could be on the other side of a football field, and still Castiel wouldn’t be able to see anything but _him_ , in vivid, exquisite detail.  
  
~  
  
“Make sure you’re comfortable, you’ll be posing for about an hour,” he murmurs, heart pounding in his ears as tries to drape the sheet artfully over Dean’s lap, covering up Dean’s boxer-briefs while leaving as much of his _intoxicating_ skin exposed as possible.  
  
Dean nods, slinging his arms over the back and side of the chaise, providing a bit of support as he relaxes into the position, and Castiel just can’t stop _looking_. There’s so many _freckles_ , all across Dean’s shoulders, so obvious in the sunlight coming in through the large windows behind him. All the times Castiel’s imagined Dean’s naked shoulders, he’s never imagined that the sun-kissed constellations sprinkled across Dean's cheeks would adorn this part of him as well, and it takes every inch of Castiel’s fraying self-control to not reach out and just… _caress_ them.  
  
Dean looks up at the students setting up around him, biting his lip in what Castiel thinks might be a nervous gesture, and again he has to fight himself from reaching out, wanting nothing more than to sooth his thumb across that plump, rose-bitten flesh. Finally Dean decides to turn his head away, facing the wall covered with paintings instead of the students circled around him, and the position stretches out Dean’s neck, offering up the strong vein and muscle usually hidden under the soft skin there.  
  
“Is this okay?” Dean asks, and Castiel almost wants to smack his palm against his own face. It’s so very beyond okay it’s ridiculous. But instead Castiel just swallows hard, yet again, and nods, hoping his smile comes across as encouraging and not the weak and shaky thing he knows it is.  
  
He fusses with the sheet as long as he can before it starts to look exactly like the stalling it is, and then performs the near impossible feat of pulling himself away from the warmth Dean’s body seems to exude. He retreats all the way to the security of his desk, leaning back on it and crossing his arms tightly around himself, trapping his hands and their wandering urges. He still can’t stop his eyes though, as they sweep across the expanse of Dean’s skin over and over again, hypnotized by the way it _glows_ in the sunlight, the way it moves and breaths, like no drawing ever could.  
  
Suddenly Dean looks at him, and for a second Castiel’s breath is stolen by the flecks of gold in the green of Dean’s eyes, as if they are stealing the sun out of the very sky.  
  
And then Castiel’s breath comes rushing back, along with the sound in the room, when he realizes the reason Dean is looking at him is because one of his students is trying to get his attention, having asked a question and not received any response for quite an obvious amount of time.  
  
He wants to facepalm himself again.  
  
He tries to keep better focus after that, but as he walks through his class, answering questions and checking on his students’ work, everywhere he looks there is Dean, on every page, from every angle, every piece of him being worshiped right there on every canvas.  
  
He wonders if maybe it would’ve been better for his sanity if he’d asked the Janitor to sit for his class instead.  
  
~  
  
When the class is finally over, Castiel’s sigh is perhaps more relieved to find the end of it than when he was a student himself. In fact, he’s envious of his students, because for the past hour they’ve been allowed to sketch Dean openly, in an acceptable context, instead of having to hide what they were doing and look away every time Dean glanced in their direction. Even as a teacher it would’ve been inappropriate for him to spend the time watching Dean, when his attention should be on his students, and it was exhausting trying to stay focused on that when Dean was _right there_. And practically _naked_.  
  
As the studio begins to empty out, a few stragglers stop to ask him some questions, and he’s somewhat grateful for the few moments of reprieve before he has to deal with Dean alone again.  
  
But then, as they're talking, he sees another one of his older students approach Dean where he’s still waiting on the chaise, striking up a conversation with him. A very flirtatious conversation, if Pamela’s throaty laugh is anything to go by.  
  
Castiel grits his teeth. It’s not the first time he’s seen someone hit on Dean. It happens a lot at the café. And Dean is so friendly with the clientele to begin with.  
  
And it’s not unheard of for an artist to become enchanted with their model. He himself knows how hard a subject Dean is to resist.  
  
But Pamela chases after anything on two legs. Castiel included, until he’d explained his preferences to her. And Dean is more than just a pretty face. Body. _Everything_. Not only is Dean beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well. Down to his very soul, Castiel suspects.  
  
From what Castiel’s learned during their brief conversations at the café, Dean works nights at a garage as well, needing the second job to support his little brother Sam. They’d lost both of their parents, so since Dean was old enough, he’d taken over Sam’s guardianship. And Dean was always going on about how smart Sam was, so very proud of his little brother. So Dean worked hard to make sure Sam got through High School, and would have enough starting money to get to a good University.  
  
The amount of self-sacrifice, and love, and dedication that spoke of always amazed Castiel. And on top of it all, Dean always had a friendly smile for him when he came to the café.  
  
What a man Dean would become one day.  
  
He deserves so much more than the flighty affections of a woman who has only laid eyes on him for less than an hour. And who is probably an inappropriate age for him to begin with. Just as Castiel is.  
  
The rest of his students leave, and as the door closes behind them Dean’s attention is drawn by the sound, and his eyes find Castiel’s again. Pamela says something then that makes Dean blush, and he quickly drops his gaze again as she laughs.  
  
Castiel clears his throat, interrupting their quiet murmuring. It’s not like he has any kind of… _claim_ on Dean, but he sure as hell doesn’t need to watch this in his own classroom.  
  
Pamela raises an eyebrow at him before turning back to give Dean a wide smile. “Well, it was _very_ nice to meet you, Dean,” she says in parting, giving Castiel a knowing leer as she breezes past him to the door. And as she pulls it open to leave, Castiel sees her discreetly turn the lock closed from the inside.  
  
“All yours!” she winks, before the door shuts behind her.  
  
~  
  
And just like that, Castiel is alone in a locked room, with a nearly naked Dean Winchester.  
  
Castiel gulps, and it feels like the sound carries all the way across the silence of the room to where Dean is standing, waiting.  
  
“How did I do?” Dean smiles at him, seemingly oblivious to his nervousness. He returns the smile, mostly relieved that Dean has broken the ice, as he usually does, focusing Castiel’s thoughts into something that can pass as conversation.  
  
“Thank you for helping out today Dean, I really appreciate it. And you did very well. I wish I had a chance to sketch you myself,” he admits honestly, before he can stop himself.  
  
“Really?” Dean grins excitedly. “Well how about now? I’m not working at the garage tonight, so I don’t need to be anywhere anytime soon,” he says, stepping back towards the chaise.  
  
Castiel blinks in shock. He hadn’t planned to ask… well, he hadn’t _ever_ planned to ask… and he’d already been fortunate to have Dean do _this_ much for him.  
  
“Thank you, Dean, really,” Castiel replies, “But I’ve already imposed on you too much.”  
  
“It’s no imposition, Cas!” Dean says grandly. “You’ve already got me here, I’m already undressed, we might as well do it!”  
  
Castiel blinks. Dean’s eyes widen in horror.  
  
“I did _not_ mean for that to sound the way it did,” he cringes, his face reddening.  
  
Castiel can’t help but laugh at that, and Dean smiles gratefully at him when he does. With their mutual embarrassment broken, Castiel sighs indulgently, realizing this is probably the only opportunity he’ll ever get to do this, to be able to sketch and stare at Dean openly, without having to hide or feel ashamed at what he’s doing. At the very least, the change would be a welcome relief.  
  
“Alright,” Castiel says. “Why not?” he grins, gesturing at the couch. Dean shoots him another excited smile and sits down on the chaise again, carefully arranging himself as Castiel sets up one of the easels.  
  
When Castiel looks up again he almost drops the charcoal in his hand. This time, Dean has chosen to change his position. He isn’t sitting up and looking away at the wall anymore. Instead he’s lying on his side across the chaise, resting his head on the crook of his elbow, and staring directly at Castiel.  
  
“Is this okay?” Dean asks when Castiel sees him.  
  
Castiel swallows hard, for what seems like the millionth time that day, before sighing to the heavens for help. But when he looks at Dean again, lying there so patiently, so perfect, the artist in him realizes this opportunity is too good to rush or half-ass.  
  
“Just a second,” Castiel murmurs, standing up and looking at the windows. The sun had been good for his class earlier, bright enough to illuminate every angle of Dean’s body, but it had also made for very flat lighting, and Castiel wanted more dimension to work with. There’s a standing lamp behind Dean, so he turns that on before going to the windows and closing the heavy drapes across them.   
  
He sits down at the easel before he looks up again, and he’s glad he’s sitting when he sees the effect the lighting has had on his subject. Dean’s skin is now _awash_ with golden light from the lamp, shadows curling around his body, as if embracing him, accentuating his lines and dips, lengthening his lashes and hooding his eyes. Castiel’s breath catches in his throat at the sight.  
  
It’s obvious how much more intimate the setting has become, both with the lighting and Dean’s changed position, but Castiel doesn’t care how it may look. It’s exactly what he’s always tried to capture in his drawings. It’s exactly how he always imagines _Dean_.  
  
It should be cooler in the room now that the sun is blocked out, but instead Castiel feels warmer, and he has to loosen his tie a little before he raises his charcoal again. Taking a deep breath, he begins to draw.  
_  
___~__  
  
This is what Castiel does. This is what he knows. The feel of charcoal in his hand, the scratch of it against the paper before him, creating lines and curves that he’s been aching to touch for so long… and now can, in a way. A thumb across Dean’s hip, fingertips across his cheek, brushing down the shadows in the dip of his collar… Safe in this comfort zone, there is no need for words, no need for small talk, just the silence of their shared breaths as Castiel’s eyes are finally allowed to look their fill, and Dean returns his gaze, unwavering.  
  
At other times, with other models, perhaps Castiel would’ve carried on some banter, cracked a few corny jokes to help make the situation more comfortable, but it seems completely unnecessary with Dean. It _could_ have been awkward, given Castiel’s desire for the young man, but perhaps now, because he doesn’t have to divert his eyes and hide it, it no longer burdens him or creates a barrier between them.  
  
And perhaps because of this, it seems his desire increases exponentially, with every passing second, and he begins to envision ridiculous things as he looks into Dean’s eyes. Things like watching Dean pleasure himself, right there on the chaise for him to see, or spreading Dean open and taking him, over every possible surface in the room. Or perhaps even taking Dean back to his home studio, and making love to him in front of the giant mirror there, so they can both see _everything_. Then perhaps taking Dean to his bed, his shower afterwards, sharing his clothes, sharing his closet space, watching tv together, making love on the couch, making dinner in the kitchen, that magnificent car in his garage… But it’s when he imagines making love to Dean in the backseat, Dean looking up at him and saying, “Put your hands on me, Cas,” when Castiel throws down his charcoal with a disdainful huff, covering his eyes with his hand and massaging his temples in frustration.  
  
“Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean asks, his voice worried, the sheet swishing loudly along the chaise as he quickly sits up.  
  
“I just need a minute,” he sighs.  
  
“Can I do anything?” Dean asks quietly. He sounds tentative, almost nervous, and Castiel sighs again, realizing how Dean might be interpreting his actions. He removes his hand from his eyes, and the anxiety on Dean’s face is evident, his posture tense as his hands twist in the sheet at his waist.  
  
“I’m sorry, Dean. You’re doing great.” _You’re perfect_. “I’m just feeling a bit… blocked,” he smiles wanly, as close to the truth as it can be.  
  
Dean relaxes a bit at that, but the concern never really leaves his eyes, and seeing that warms Castiel immeasurably. Although he really shouldn’t let it. As nice as it is to know Dean cares, he really needs to keep his reactions to the young man under control.  
  
“Can I… Do you mind if I take a look?” Dean asks, gesturing at his sketch. “I mean, I know you’re private about your work and all, but people have been drawing me all afternoon and I’m really curious—“  
  
“What?” Castiel interrupts. “What makes you think I’m private about my work?” he asks, confused.  
  
“Well… You never let anyone at the café see what you’re drawing. I just assumed…”  
  
“Of course,” Castiel huffs to himself. He never let anyone at the café see that he was drawing _Dean_.  
  
Dean looks at him strangely at that, so he quickly plasters on a smile again, “I mean, of course you can look, Dean,” he says, trying to cover up his momentary fumble.  
  
Dean grins and hops up off the chaise, wrapping the sheet around his waist as he walks over, and Castiel takes a deep breath, steeling himself for Dean’s reaction.  
  
~ _  
  
_ When Dean sees what Castiel’s drawn, he goes completely still, the grin dropping from his face as he sucks in a sharp breath of surprise. Castiel has taken some liberties with the realism of the setting, and it’s nowhere near finished, but the general idea is obvious.  
  
Most of Dean’s form is already there, all the lines and curves of his body, though Castiel hasn’t drawn the sheet yet. He’s spent more time on Dean’s face, trying to capture the perfect bow of his lips, every curl of every eyelash, and the shadows they create, the expression in Dean eyes… But it’s not that part of the sketch Castiel’s worried about. He’s had plenty of practice drawing Dean before, even though Dean doesn’t know it.  
  
It’s the rest of the sketch Castiel is nervous about. Instead of drawing the chaise and the rest of the background as it is, Castiel has drawn a large, reclining eagle, taking inspiration from the painting that had so enchanted Dean earlier that afternoon. One of the bird’s wings is curved above Dean’s body, feathertips extended, only _just_ touching Dean’s skin, and arranged in such a way that they seem to be source of shadows around Dean’s body that were originally made by the angle of the lamp. The other wing is drawn where the chaise should be, creating the illusion that Dean is resting on its bed of feathers, pressed close to the bird’s chest.  
  
The way the eagle is looking down at Dean, combined with the way its wing hovers around Dean’s body, it seems like the eagle is protecting him, or about to embrace him, or both, Castiel can’t decide. And he thinks that may be a pretty revealing interpretation of his own desires toward Dean at the moment.  
  
“Cas…” Dean breathes quietly, “Wow…”  
  
Dean glances quickly at the print of Zeus and Ganymede on the wall, before he looks back at Castiel’s sketch, a small smile unmistakably blossoming on his lips.  
  
“Do you know the greek myth of Ganymede?” Castiel ventures. Dean shakes his head, not taking his eyes away from the sketch.  
  
“Ganymede was a young sheep-herder,” Castiel explains, “who was so beautiful, the god Zeus came down in the form of an eagle to steal him away to Olympus, where he made Ganymede his immortal lover, and cupbearer to the gods.”  
  
“Like his own personal barista?” Dean grins a little.  
  
“Yes,” Castiel chuckles, relieved. He wasn’t quite sure how Dean would take the inherently homoerotic story, or his affinity to it, but it seems Dean doesn’t mind at all.  
  
“But didn’t Zeus have a wife or something?” Dean asks, frowning at the picture.  
  
“Yes he did,” Castiel replies. “And she wasn’t happy about the whole affair. So Zeus ended up setting Ganymede in the stars, as the constellation Aquarius.”  
  
“Huh,” Dean huffs thoughtfully. “I’m an Aquarius,” he says.  
  
“Are you?” Castiel smiles at the coincidence.  Dean looks down at him then, sudden seriousness in his eyes, and Castiel’s smile falters.  
  
“You’re not married are you?” Dean asks, completely unabashedly.  
  
“…No?” Castiel squawks, utterly taken by surprise.  
  
“Good,” Dean replies.  
  
~  
  
Castiel’s heart begins pounding in his ears. With one question, Dean has all but propositioned him, and it’s so unexpected, he doesn’t know how to react. The way Dean is looking at him right now, he knows he could easily pull Dean into his lap and have his way with the young man. The door is locked, there’s probably hardly anyone left in the building at this time in the afternoon, and Dean is so close, Castiel can practically _taste_ Dean’s skin already.  
  
But to his utter dismay, Dean steps back, out of reach, and keeps going back until he’s right up against the chaise again.  
  
And then, to Castiel’s utter shock, Dean shimmies out of his boxer-briefs behind the sheet, and lets them drop to the floor.  
  
Castiel’s jaw drops just as far, and he is still in shock when Dean eases down on the chaise again, arranging himself in the same supine position as before, but this time threading the sheet through his legs - still covering himself, but now exposing the entire line of his hip. Just like the painting on Castiel's wall.  
  
Castiel very nearly groans out loud. He wants to bury his face in that hip, worship it with his lips and tongue and teeth, kiss and lick and nibble his way inwards along that line to Dean’s center, where he can begin worshiping all over again.  
  
“Do you want to keep going?” Dean asks quietly, and Castiel could swear his eyes are darker now, pupils dilated with desire that Castiel now knows might rival his own. A desire that has been steadily building over the last hour, just the two of them together in the studio, artist and subject. No, it’s been building since before then, since Castiel’s class earlier, but constrained by the presence of his students. No. It’s been weeks, _months_ for Castiel, watching and wanting and just _waiting_ for some sign that Dean might be able to handle his affections.  
  
And here it seems, not only can Dean handle it, but is _inviting_ it, laying himself out to be taken at Castiel’s leisure.  
  
Yet somehow Castiel doesn’t feel like he has any control over the situation at all. The way Dean has so thoroughly bewitched him, Dean is clearly the one with all the power here.  
  
Castiel does the only thing he _can_ do. Taking a deep breath, he picks up his charcoal, and begins to draw again, adding the lines that had been covered before. His fingers brush over the new contours, almost caress-like, desirous of the real thing. But this time he no longer feels the weight of denial, because it seems the real thing is merely waiting for him to touch, enticing him to it, all but daring him to remove the last barrier of a sheet between them.  
  
And what a thin barrier it is. Even in the soft glow of the lamp Castiel can see the outline of Dean’s flesh underneath, and under Castiel’s gaze it begins to rise, and _harden_ , until the shape of it is unmistakable, and _beautiful_.  
  
Castiel feels himself responding, and he squirms in his chair, trying to adjust. His self-control begins to crumble though, after so long, and in the face of such… desire. In a matter of seconds it becomes very obvious he’s aroused, and Dean looks at him pointedly, smirking when he sees.  
  
That’s when Dean pulls the sheet away.  
  
~  
  
It's as if it moves in slow-motion, the way the material slithers across Dean's skin, rustling as it falls, so loud in the silence of the room. Until finally, the sheet is entirely gone, pooled in heap on the floor, and Dean is completely, gloriously, naked.  
  
Something like a whimper, or a sob, escapes Castiel's throat then, unable to help himself.  
  
The charcoal falls from his fingers, cracking apart on the ground.  
  
And as it shatters, so do the last remnants of his self-control.  
  
Standing up off his chair, he walks towards the chaise in a daze, drawn by the golden glow of Dean’s skin, and the welcoming _heat_ in Dean’s eyes. He crawls onto the foot of the chaise, slowly, over the length of Dean’s legs, waiting, hovering in the warmth from Dean’s body. It is thick and heady and an almost tangible cushion to lay upon, as he takes in the sight of Dean’s lashes up close, hooded over the dark irises of Dean’s eyes, the bed of freckles across his cheeks, and the parted, waiting lips beneath. He stares and he stares and he _stares_ , tasting Dean’s breath, heavy on his tongue, until finally, Dean grabs the loose length of his tie, pulling him down into a crushing kiss.  
  
Castiel groans, collapsing against Dean in stages. First on his knees, stunned and humbled by the feel of Dean’s lips against his own, _finally_ , _perfectly_ , _worshiping_ Dean’s mouth, speaking prayers against the caress of his tongue. His hips are the next to fall, drawn to Dean’s center, his groan returned as the proof of Dean’s desire presses against his own, insistent and strong, demanding the push and pull of the oldest of dances. And then his chest, his heart, pounding in its cage, settling on top of Dean’s body to find its answering pulse, its synchronous breath, poured back and forth between their lips into each other, over and over again.  
  
He is wrapped up in Dean’s arms, Dean’s legs, Dean’s hands in his hair, holding him close and warming him through the very touch of his skin. It’s all he ever wants. And yet, it’s not _nearly_ enough.  
  
He wants to _taste_ Dean as well. His eyelids, his eye _lashes_ , the freckles on his cheeks, the tip of his nose, the line of his jaw, the shell of his ear, the hidden skin behind it… and when his lips finally follow that pathway to Dean’s neck, Dean gasps his name in such a way that he wants to catch the sound in his fingers and press it to his lips as well.  
  
He does the next best thing, and nips his way down Dean’s throat, sucking at Dean’s clavicle, and the surprised moan Dean makes vibrates deep inside Castiel’s mouth, right against his tongue, and it’s as close as he can get.  
  
His mouth takes over, nipping and nibbling across Dean’s shoulders, devouring every inch of that golden skin, hungry for so _long_. He can feel every shaky breath in Dean’s chest, every soft gasp and sigh against his lips, and he is sure he returns them, pressed into Dean’s collarbone, lost in Dean’s scent, that impossibly perfect mixture of boy and man at the same time. Dean’s skin, just the same, both soft and young and unmarked by anything other than that blanket of freckles, sheathing the hard planes of a growing man.  
   
His thumbs brush across perfect, rosebud nipples, long hardened in the cool air of the room, and Dean hisses in a surprised breath, his back arching into the touch, begging for more. And there is so much more. Fingers, nails, lips, teeth, teasing and tasting until Dean is writhing, his soft-skinned hardness nudging into Castiel’s chest, reminding him of its presence, its need.  
  
Inevitably, Castiel is lost to that need, swooping down to press his lips to that waiting flesh, cradling it in his palm as he tongues its length. Dean’s hand falls into his hair as a curse fall from his lips, his hips circling, thrusting inside Castiel’s mouth and demanding rhythm. Castiel denies him nothing, spreading Dean’s thighs father apart and swallowing down more skin, nose buried in Dean’s intoxicating scent.  
  
He needs more, and Dean is spread open for him, just _waiting_ to be sampled. So he noses downward, licking, kissing, lapping at that perfect, pink entrance, and Dean cries out, bucking up beneath him. Castiel licks there again, raising his eyes this time and watching as waves of pleasure roll through Dean’s body in the golden light, his face awash with the surprise of sudden ecstasy. He is so _beautiful_ , so _responsive_ … except when Castiel circles his tongue there again, and Dean’s body all but quakes beneath him, he finally realises that Dean is maybe… _too_ responsive.  
  
“Dean,” he says softly, calling his attention, and it takes a few deep breaths before Dean stills himself enough to meet Castiel’s gaze. His eyes are almost wild, so completely blown with lust, that Castiel guesses the answer ever before he asks, “Has anyone ever done this for you before?”  
  
Dean shakes his head minutely, and Castiel doesn’t know how to react, overwhelmed by the admission, desire and lust and the need to possess warring with his conscience.  
  
“Dean,” he swallows tightly, “Have you ever been with a man before?”  
  
It takes longer for Dean to answer this time, but the response is the same, a small, short shake of his head, that leaves Castiel both reeling with want, and chastened by reality.  
  
He sits up on the chaise, turning away from Dean and dropping his head in his hands.  
  
~  
  
“Cas?” Dean asks, sounding so uncertain and so vulnerable, Castiel pulls at his own hair.  
  
“This is entirely inappropriate,” Castiel grits his teeth, “You are the same age as most of my students.”  
  
“But I’m _not_ one of your students,” Dean shoots back. “And I _want_ this, Cas,” he implores heatedly. “You have no idea how much I want this,” he reiterates softly.  
  
Castiel growls in frustration at the words, because he _does_. He _does_ know. He’s imagined this for so _long_. And even though he never thought he could ever actually _have_ it. Castiel’s always known Dean’s too young for him, and so never tried to pursue him, no matter how much he wanted to. And he always thought Dean preferred women anyway, from what he’d gathered. Maybe Dean had, until now. But to be the first _man_ for Dean… here, on the spur of the moment, on the dusty old chaise in the campus studio of all places… it’s not how this kind of thing should be done. If at all.  
  
“C’mon Cas,” Dean whispers into his ear, pressing up against his back and enveloping him with his heady warmth again. “I know you want this too. The way you drew me, the way you were _looking_ at me…”  
  
“Not like this!” Castiel hisses. “Not for your first time.”  
  
“Shouldn’t that be my choice?” Dean argues. “I’m old enough to know what I want, Cas,” he murmurs, leaning in closer. “C’mon, Cas. Screw propriety. Right in the face,” he says, and Castiel can’t help but huff a little laugh at that.  
  
Encouraged by his response, Dean reaches around his waist, and Castiel feels fingertips creeping up under the hem of his shirt. “C’mon, Cas. For me. Please,” Dean urges, pressing kisses along the back of Castiel’s neck that grow more wet and solicitous with every press, dousing Castiel’s resolve. “ _Please_ , Cas,” Dean begs again, and Castiel groans, ripping himself out of Dean’s grasp and standing up off the couch.  
  
He legs are shaky as he walks away, and he thinks he hears Dean make a small sound of distress as he leaves, but he can’t turn around now or he may do something they’ll both regret.  
  
Instead, he keeps walking, straight to the supply room for the things they need.  
  
It is so very hard though, to not turn around and throw himself back into Dean’s arms again. But before he does, he wants to make sure they can at least be _safe_.  
  
He looks around the supply room in a daze at first, looking but not really seeing through the haze of desire still rushing through every nerve in his body, pulsing loudly in his ears. But finally he sees it, the large bottle of hand lotion left behind by one of the other teachers to help deal with the thicker oil paints. He grabs it and turns for the door again, but on his way out he sees Dean’s clothes sitting on the chair in the room, the bulge of Dean’s wallet in the back of his jeans. He bites his lip as he reaches for it, hoping Dean is at least conscientious enough to carry some kind of protection. Even though it’s not the best place to keep it, Castiel is still relieved when he finds it, and replaces Dean’s wallet back in his jeans.  
  
When he re-emerges from the supply room though, he stops in his tracks, surprised to see Dean mirroring his own position earlier, sitting on the edge of the chaise with his head in his hands. His chest tightens in sympathy, knowing how it feels to be denied something you want so desperately, but then he realizes that thing is _him_ , and his heart flares, sending a warmth through his chest on top of the heat that’s spreading below.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind, but I pulled this out of your wallet,” Castiel says, holding up the condom in his fingers. Dean’s head shoots up at his words, and when he sees what Castiel’s holding, his answering grin is both stunned and relieved, widening with excitement as his eyes fire up with arousal again.  
  
~  
  
Dean hops up to to his knees on the chaise as he approaches, so by the time Castiel is within arm’s length Dean is already reaching out for him, pulling him into a bruising kiss. Castiel nearly topples over with the momentum of it, but Dean holds him up in his arms, clutching him for all the world like he’s not going to let Castiel get away from him again. As it is, Castiel drops the items in his hand, and they bounce onto the chaise as he grabs onto Dean for balance. He doesn’t care though. Dean’s lips are hot and wet against his mouth, and he’s got handfuls of Dean’s skin, glorious against his palms.  
  
Dean seems to want the same thing, because as soon as Castiel is standing on his own again Dean yanks off Castiel’s tie, pulling at the buttons of Castiel’s shirt until he’s yanking that off as well. And then there’s skin, skin everywhere, velvet smooth pressed warm and hard and against… _skin_.  
  
Castiel holds on even tighter, groaning the agony of his delight into Dean’s mouth. He is still reveling in it as Dean’s hands make quick work of his belt and fly, his pants and briefs being dropped unceremoniously to the floor. And then, dear God, _more_ skin, hard flesh, hot and insistent, rubbing together. And instead of exhaling a groan he sucks in a hiss of air, their lips ceasing their frantic press in favor of the greater need below.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Cas…” Dean whimpers, dragging against him, slow and shaky, hanging on to Castiel’s neck as he trembles. Castiel grabs onto the flesh of Dean’s backside, and _crushes_ him closer, _grinding_ their lengths together in between their bodies as Dean cries out, throwing his head back and gasping for air. Castiel is torn between wanting to press his lips against the length of Dean’s outstretched neck, and wanting to watch Dean’s face, slack-jawed and awed and overwhelmed by pleasure. He tries to do both, never removing his eyes as he presses brief, butterfly kisses to Dean’s throat.  
  
And then Dean cries out again, his eyes flying wide as Castiel accidentally brushes a finger deep against the cleft of his ass. He lifts his head to look at Castiel again, a sort of bewildered surprise in his eyes, even as he squirms his hips back for more. This time, when Castiel deliberately presses his finger there, Dean’s mouth opens in a silent cry, but he doesn’t look away, letting Castiel know how much he likes it with startled eyes and heavy breaths.  
  
Castiel starts to move his finger, massaging in circular movements, and if he thought Dean was shaky before, it’s nothing compared to how Dean jerks and quakes against him now. Dean isn’t even wet and he’s already opening up for Castiel, taking the tip of Castiel’s finger inside him.  
  
“Put it in,” Dean breathes. And Castiel is severely tempted. But if this is going to be Dean’s first time with a man, Castiel wants it to be good for him. Something memorable, as Castiel already knows it will be for _him_.  
  
“Not yet,” he whispers back, pulling his hand away. Instead he leans forward, carefully laying Dean out on the chaise and rolling him over onto his stomach. For long moments he’s lost in the dip of Dean’s spine, the divine curve of Dean's rear, and he distractedly palms Dean’s hips, pulling him closer and up onto his knees. Dean allows himself to be shifted willingly, settling into the position with a relieved sigh. And then Dean reaches back, spreading open the flesh of his cheeks.  
  
Seeing Dean do that punches a groan out of Castiel, and his cock twitches hard at the sight of Dean holding himself open, _presenting_ himself for Castiel. With a sigh of his own he falls forward, dipping his tongue into that invitation, swiping and circling and jabbing it into Dean’s entrance as Dean bucks and writhes and sobs into the cushions.  
  
Dean is overwhelmed by the sensation, Castiel can tell. But he doesn’t stop, not until Dean is cursing incoherent nonsense, then whimpering pleading ramblings, and then finally reduced to chanting Castiel’s name over and over again, completely melted into the bed of the chaise. And _then_ , Castiel _finally_ slides his fingers in.  
  
First one, sinking easily inside Dean alongside a soft groan. Then two, slowly pushing and thrusting against Dean’s spit-slick rim, met with soft hums of pleasure and only the slightest squirming of his body, so thoroughly taken apart already. Dean is so relaxed, so far past ready for him, Castiel almost feels guilty when he begins to probe deeper, searching for the spot that will set Dean on fire again.  
  
He picks up the hand lotion he found earlier, spreading it over his fingers as they push into Dean, easing his way deeper. Dean startles a little at the coolness of the lotion on his skin, being pushed inside him, but as Castiel’s fingers begin to search harder Dean begins to respond, lifting his hips again and meeting Castiel’s thrusts. As he does, Dean angles his hips, helping Castiel find what he’s looking for, and Castiel knows he’s found it when Dean cries out, bucking around him.  
  
Slowly Castiel begins massaging that spot, working Dean into a frenzy again. The cursing resumes, the rambling and begging and chanting of his name, until finally even Castiel can’t hold out anymore, compelled to give Dean what he wants, desperate to be enveloped in that heat. He pulls his fingers out so he can put on the condom, using the hand lotion again to lube himself up, but even the time _that_ takes is too long for Dean, as he reaches back to shove his own fingers inside himself, filling himself up where Castiel has left him wanting.  
  
Castiel’s brain nearly implodes.  
  
~  
  
He almost comes right then and there, with his dick in his hands, when he see what Dean’s doing. Of all the things Castiel’s been lucky enough to see today, this very nearly undoes him. Dean may have never been with a man before, but _clearly_ Dean has done _this_ before, finger-fucking himself with the kind of ease that comes from experience. Lots of it. Enough to make him want the real thing. Shameslessly. _Begging_ for it.  
  
For _Castiel_.  
  
It’s almost too much. And maybe his brain does overload in some way, because then Castiel is sliding his own finger inside once more, right alongside Dean’s, stretching him out even wider as they fuck into him together. Dean goes completely silent at first, frozen with shock, and then his litany of begging curses begins again, even more needy than before.  
  
_“OhGodCasFuckYesMoreMoreMorePleasePutItInAlreadyCasINeedYou!”_  
  
Castiel is done. He pulls Dean’s fingers out with his own, and then lines himself up behind Dean’s still squirming hips, his open and waiting entrance. And then, oh-so-slowly, Castiel begins feeding him his length.  
  
Dean goes silent again, clutching at the pillows and breathing hard as Castiel carefully keeps guiding himself in, grunting softly in restraint. At least in this position, Dean has some control, some space to get away from him if it becomes painful, but Castiel finds he has to use his leverage to keep Dean still instead, preventing Dean from pushing back onto him.  
  
Dean wants it so bad. And Castiel wants nothing more than to bury himself inside Dean as well, push all the way in with one thrust until he’s balls deep. But this is Dean’s first time, and he’s still so _tight_. Castiel forces himself to go slow, no matter how much they both want it.  
  
Finally, he can go no further. He’s _there_ , all the way inside Dean, and he revels in that for a moment, drops across Dean’s back and holds Dean there, so impossibly warm and snug around him. Dean twists his head around to look at where Castiel’s dropped over his shoulder, and their eyes meet again, for the first time since Castiel spread Dean out on the chaise.  
  
Dean’s eyes convey so much more than the soft curses gasped from his lip. They are so exquisitely dark, wild with desire, focusing on Castiel with such intense heat and raw _need_ , that Castiel find himself nodding, answering the unspoken question there and giving Dean what he wants.  
  
His thrusts are cautious at first, giving Dean time to adjust around him, time to learn how to relax himself and take it. But the slow pace also gives him the opportunity to watch every minute reaction on Dean’s face, with every push, grounding Dean in the connection of their eyes and lips, loathe to break away from it just yet.  
  
He doesn’t have to hide it anymore. Doesn’t have to hold back all the things he wants to feel. All the things he could only express on paper and canvas before, he tells Dean now with his eyes, and lips, and hands… with his entire body, his entire _being_.  
  
It feels _so_ good.  
  
~  
  
The need builds too quickly. After such a wait, it’s inevitable. And Castiel has to push himself away again, up above Dean’s back for better leverage as he begins to speed his pace. But he refuses to remove his lips again, trailing the freckled path along Dean’s shoulder, _finally_ able to worship the constellations across his back, the bunched muscles and sharp shoulderblades there. He’s drawn these things so many times from his corner of the café, watching Dean work. And even when Castiel’s not at the café, trying to recreate these things from memory, but unveiled, bared and naked as they are now, trying to imagine how these lines would breathe in life with the strokes of his pencil, the brush of his fingertips.  
  
He finds himself shifting his weight, freeing a hand to press against the skin of Dean’s back, tracing the lines there as he’s so often done on paper, thumbing down the knobs of Dean’s spine, tracking the muscle down Dean’s hip. Dean reacts instantly to that, hissing and squirming as he’s tickled there, grabbing Castiel’s hand away. Castiel huffs a laugh at the discovery, warmth spreading through his chest as he is endeared all over again.  
  
Dean doesn’t let go, bringing Castiel’s hand up to his lips and pressing wet kisses into his palm. The warmth in Castiel’s chest spreads impossibly further at the tenderness of such a gesture, and in the midst of such passion. And then Dean is kissing his fingertips, every one, as if worshiping the very hand that has remade him, over and over again on paper, although Dean doesn’t know it.  
  
Maybe he pushes, or Dean sucks, but then his fingers are _inside_ Dean’s mouth, thrusting in time with their hips, and Dean’s tongue is laving and curling around them in a way that electrifies Castiel all the way up his arm and down to his toes. It makes him shake, unable to hold himself up any longer, and he rolls to his side behind Dean, pulling Dean with him so they are still pressed together, connected.  
  
Dean doesn’t stop sucking his fingers, just lifts his leg a little and adjusts to the sideways position, giving Castiel better access to keep driving into him. But now there’s a whole other expanse of skin exposed to Castiel, and he wants to touch there too.  
  
Reluctantly he pulls his fingers out of Dean’s mouth. Dean sighs as he does though, and the breath from it brushes across his wet skin and makes it tingle again. He’s had the same thing done to his nipples in the past, breath played across them after they’ve been sucked and bitten, and it’s with that thought he reaches towards Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean gasps as he rolls the nipple there, tight between oh-so-wet fingertips, pinching and pulling and teasing the hardened nub of flesh. Then he twists Dean further onto his back so he can lean further over Dean’s chest to blow on it, and Dean bucks and gasps, his skin goose-pimpling all over. And then Dean twists back further to loop his arm around Castiel’s neck, pulling him in to mash their lips together again.  
  
Castiel groans into the sloppy kiss, grabbing onto Dean’s thigh and lifting again as Dean readjusts. He massages the strong muscle of Dean’s leg for a moment, loving the feel of that thick flesh in his palm, and then his hand gravitates inwards, down towards Dean’s center.  
  
His fingers are no longer wet by the time he grabs Dean’s cock, but Dean is covered with pre-come, dripping all over his length, more than enough for Castiel to create a fluid rhythm. Dean bucks again, crying out, but in his half-sideways position he can’t push back like Castiel can tell he wants to. He can only take it, split open by Castiel’s sideways thrusts. Can only hang onto Castiel’s neck, fixing him with wild eyes, slack-jawed as he meets the press of Castiel’s mouth.  
  
Castiel never thought he’d see Dean like this. He never thought he’d ever actually hold Dean in his arms, pressed against his body, hot and tight around him and _desperate_ for it. He’s imagined this, wanted this so much. And now that he’s finally here, he doesn’t _ever_ want it to end.  
  
But they’re both so close. And the need for completion is steadily outweighing Castiel’s need for this to last.  
  
“ _God_ , Dean you don’t know what you’re _doing_ to me…” he groans, “What you _do_ to me!”  
  
“Cas!” Dean whimpers, agonized, “I can’t-- I can’t hold on much longer!”  
  
Castiel doesn’t stop pistoning as he lifts Dean’s leg high, twisting under it as he pushes Dean flat on his back, and he is lying on top of Dean, leg hooked over his shoulder. The new position angles him perfectly, allowing him all that deeper, and soon Dean is crying out with every jab of his cock, bucking up his hips to meet every plunge.  
  
He grabs Dean’s length in his fist again, pumping tight and furiously fast, still thrusting and driving cries out of the depths of Dean’s body. And then suddenly Dean goes silent, slack-jawed and still, and Castiel can feel Dean coming from the inside, building up through Dean’s body until it throbs out of his cock, and then Dean is wailing with it, his whole body rolling with waves of pleasure.  
  
It’s the most beautiful thing he’s seen yet. And Castiel holds out for as long as he can, trying to look his fill. Until finally Dean’s clenching heat takes him over the edge, and he’s throwing his head back with a shout, coming hard and loud as well.  
  
~  
  
Castiel rides Dean long after their climax, thrusting through the soft ripples afterwards until they’re both too sensitive to take anymore. Then he carefully removes himself, crawling down Dean’s body and pressing his lips to Dean’s stomach, lapping at the salty streaks of his orgasm. He runs his tongue further down, across the softening flesh there, and even sucks it off his own fingers, until it’s all gone. Dean stares up at the ceiling silently, breathlessly, twitching and gasping as his more sensitive parts are mouthed, but parting his legs for Castiel’s access nonetheless.  
  
Castiel ties off his condom and drops it on the floor, sliding back up the chaise to lie alongside Dean. Still Dean stares upwards, but now Castiel can see the overwhelmed glaze in his eyes, the complete and utter bewilderment in them.  
  
“Dean? Are you alright?” Castiel asks softly.  
  
It takes a second, before Dean gives him a little nod. And then another second, before Dean shakes his head.  
  
“Son of a _bitch_ , Cas,” Dean huffs, laughing in amazement. Castiel grins, remembering his first time with another man, and how completely astonished he was by the whole experience afterwards.  
  
Dean turns to look at him, his smile becoming tentative. “That was… good. Right?” he asks, biting his lip anxiously, and Castiel huffs a laugh.  
  
“That was _amazing_ , Dean,” he reassures, with thorough honesty.  
  
“Okay,” Dean breathes, his smile losing its uncertainty. Castiel gives him a small smile of wonder in return, surprised to see such vulnerability, where there’s usually so much bravado.  
  
Moved by the unintended display, Castiel tangles himself around Dean, stroking his fingers down Dean’s skin in an attempt to soothe him. It isn’t long before he feels Dean’s breath even out against him, and when he looks, Dean is fast asleep against his chest.  
  
Castiel sighs fondly, adjusting himself alongside Dean more comfortably and wrapping the sheet around them where he can. He wants to reach up and touch Dean’s face, trace the curves and caress the lines he’s so often drawn, but he doesn’t want to wake Dean either. He doesn’t want to be denied this last chance to look his fill, before things irrevocably change between them.  
  
It’s been an amazing afternoon. More than amazing. But realistically, Dean is still too young for him. He may not be ready for the kind of… _investment_ that Castiel has already, unfortunately, devoted to him. Not ready for the kind of _hopes_ Castiel has been trying to deny for as long as he’s known Dean.  
  
He’s already been selfish enough with his desires. Dean deserved his first time to be with someone special. Not some illicit encounter with an older man he barely knows, without even dinner, or a drink first. But maybe that was Castiel’s role all along, to be the older, experienced man to guide Dean through his first time successfully. He could take comfort in the fact that at least it had been _good_ for Dean.  
  
He can’t go to the café anymore though. Even if Dean is able to handle this kind of transient liaison with some kind of maturity, Castiel knows _he_ won’t be able to return to the same kind of easy casualness they’ve had in their interactions before. And he’d have to be a special kind of masochistic to even try.  
  
As it is, he already knows he’s going to hang on to the memory of this afternoon for a lot longer than is probably healthy. Already knows he’ll be sketching a million different moments, painting with colors that flush and glow over and again, sculpting the contours of Dean’s body from touch alone.  
  
So until then, he’s just going to look, all he can, at everything he can, until exhaustion finally claims him as well.  
  
~  
  
Sometime later, Castiel is awoken by a strange noise. He’s not sure he’s actually heard it at first, as he comes to consciousness slowly, but then he hears it again, much nearer, and this time instantly identifiable. It’s the shutter-click of a camera, or at least the recorded sound of it that’s used on mobile phones.  
  
Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean sitting on the chaise beside him, fully dressed again and, as he suspected, fiddling with his phone.  
  
“Dean?” Castiel croaks, voice still groggy from sleep, and Dean jumps at the sound of it. “Did you just take a picture of me?” he raises a questioning eyebrow. Dean bites his lip, slowly turning to meet Castiel’s gaze.  
  
“It’s just a hobby of mine,” Dean shrugs, but there’s something evasive about the way he says it that makes Castiel frown.  
  
“Your hobby is taking pictures of naked men as they sleep,” he deadpans.  
  
“No!” Dean yelps, looking embarrassed. “Just… taking pictures,” he explains.  
  
“Okay,” Castiel replies. Wrapping the sheet around his waist he sits up on the chaise next to Dean and leans over, “May I see?” he asks.  
  
“Um…” Dean hesitates for a moment, looking down at his phone. Then he takes a deep breath and says, “Okay. But it’s just a hobby okay? I’m not a real artist or anything like that,” he rushes to add, before slowly handing over the phone.  
  
Castiel has to blink a few times before he realizes what he’s seeing. It’s him, sleeping, mostly naked but for the sheet twisted around his skin… But the framing is unbalanced, and the lamp behind him sends a strange flare across the empty space above his head… and it’s beautiful. The picture defies all the basic rules of photography and yet Dean has used the angle and the halo-like flare in the lens to make him look like some kind of sleeping God.  
  
“ _Dean_ …” he breathes, awed. “I didn’t know I could look like this,” he murmurs. “You are _very_ good,” Castiel smiles at him.  
  
Dean meets his eyes again, an embarrassed smile on his face from the compliment. “Thanks, Cas. That means a lot to me,” he says gratefully, as if Castiel’s approval truly is important to him. It makes Castiel want to kiss him, but he’s not sure if that’s okay anymore, so he quickly diverts his eyes, looking down at the phone again.  
  
As he does though, his thumb slips across the screen, flicking the image to the previous picture, and Castiel smiles. Dean has taken a picture of the sketch Castiel drew of him earlier, and Castiel warms at the thought that Dean likes it enough to want a copy of it, even though it isn’t finished. It makes him want to kiss Dean again.  
  
He sighs, stroking the image, forgetting that the touch will change it to the previous picture, and what he sees startles him.  
  
It’s him again, but from much earlier that day, standing by the road outside the Haven café and talking on his phone – probably receiving the very phone call that started this whole thing. He touches the screen once more, and there he is again, but from the inside of the café, through the glass of its window.  
  
Castiel is shocked. Grabbing the sheet around his waist, he stands up off the chaise, turning away from Dean and shielding the phone as he quickly flicks through more pictures. They’re all of him, from even earlier during his visit to the café today - drawing in his sketchpad, drinking tea, having lunch - all from unusual angles, and some of them blurred, as if they’d been taken in passing.  
  
“Cas?” Dean calls from behind him, worry in his voice.  
  
“Dean,” Castiel replies, turning back around as he puts the pieces together, remembering something Dean said to him outside the café. “Did you pretend to work for a whole hour after your shift finished, _just_ to take pictures of _me?_ ” he asks incredulously.  
  
Dean pales.  
  
~  
  
Castiel‘s heart hammers. He looks down at Dean’s phone again, flicking through the pictures faster, and once he gets through the pictures from this afternoon, they go back even further, from _days_ before, _weeks_. Except these pictures have obviously been filtered through already, the unwanted ones discarded so only the good shots remain.  
  
They’re all still chosen to Dean’s unconventional taste though, taken from unusual but interesting angles, often with lopsided framing or playing with reflections and light flares. And the subject is always _him_. From every angle. Or sometimes just a part of him – his hand hanging over the side of one of the café tables, or gripping the edge of his sketchpad… the small strip of skin showing at the back of his neck as leans over and draws… his throat where it meets the open collar of his shirt…  
  
“What is this, Dean?” he asks, completely thrown.  
  
“Please don’t be mad, Cas,” Dean implores. “I would’ve asked for your permission but… what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey I’m an amateur photographer, can I please take lots and lots of pictures of you?’ Could that _be_ any more creepy?!” Dean exclaims.  
  
“I would have said Yes,” Castiel replies, the small smile inching at his lips threatening to break into an out and out grin.  
  
“…What?” Dean replies, his turn to be confused now. "Really?"  
  
Castiel walks over to his desk, pulling his sketchpad out of his bag, and brings it back to Dean, handing it over. “Open it,” he says, sitting down on the chaise again.  
  
Dean’s eyes widen in shock, and for a moment he just looks down at the sketchpad in his hands with something like awe in his eyes, before he reverently opens its cover. Castiel holds his breath as for the second time that day, as he watches Dean appraise his work. Work that is comprised entirely of _Dean_. On every page. From a multitude of angles, and sometimes just different parts of him, drawn in detail. Much like Dean’s collection on his phone.  
  
“I would have asked your permission, but…” Castiel says softly, echoing Dean’s earlier statement.  
  
Dean glances up at him, expression entirely unreadable, before he looks back down at the pages of the book. He goes all the way through it, and when he reaches the end, he nods, as if considering something, and then lays the pad on the chaise beside him.  
  
And the next moment, Dean is launching himself at Castiel’s lips, pushing Castiel back onto the chaise with the momentum of it. Castiel wraps his arms around Dean and holds onto him, laughing into the kiss until Dean steals his breath away with it.  
  
“Dammit, Cas, I didn’t think you even cared I existed!” Dean breathes against his lips, “I was trying so hard to get you to pay attention to me, hell I had to offer to take off my clothes for you to look at me for more than two seconds!”  
  
“Dean, how could I _not_ pay attention to you?” Castiel huffs in disbelief, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”  
  
Dean’s mouth snaps shut at that, and he goes wide-eyed again. “Um… You too?” he shrugs helplessly.  
  
Castiel laughs again at that, but as he does he see how closely Dean watches him, so openly, and he realizes Dean isn’t kidding. He pulls Dean down to kiss him again, but this time slow, and deep, taking his time to enjoy it, because he suspects he has that time now.  
  
“So,” Dean says afterwards, nervous again, “Would you? Pose for me sometime?” he asks, biting his lip.  
  
Castiel grins. “How’s Saturday night for you? After you have dinner with me?”  
  
And that’s the night they begin a whole new series of pictures - mostly of Castiel, but some with Dean in them as well.  
  
They even make a few videos too.  
  
_~ fin_

  
  
Guys, seriously, [check out artwork of Zeus and Ganymede](http://www.google.com.au/search?q=zeus+and+ganymede&hl=en&client=firefox-a&hs=vAr&rls=org.mozilla:en-US:official&channel=s&tbm=isch&tbo=u&source=univ&sa=X&ei=qMNXUZLJC4mXiQe8loDIDQ&ved=0CEcQsAQ&biw=1024&bih=631). I don't know why I'd never heard of this myth until now.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ETA Aug '14: Holy wow guys, this fic has over 1000 kudos now O.O Thanks so much, I’m constantly overwhelmed by the response to what was originally intended to be a little piece of smut! I still hope to expand this verse someday, but until then I've posted this little [sequel at tumblr](http://the-diggler.tumblr.com/post/95959547760/life-art-sequel), which I actually wrote FIRST before deciding I needed to tell the story of how they got together :s


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